Three Poems Inspired by TikTok Comments

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By Meg Curran

and Jesus said unto them, slappeth this bag, for it is my blood

The first time I saw the Jesus blood gallon, 
I was blown away. Fun fact from a church 
bartender, Jesus’s blood is Franzia, the wine 
the people deserve. Relatable because I did 
go through a phase once where my blood 
was also Franzia, and if you really think about 
it, a lot of his followers seem box wine drunk, 
so yeah, it tracks.

I used to eat the unblessed wafers like chips, 
just chompin’ on JC’s body like nothing. You 
can buy them on Amazon, though I feel like 
if Jesus was real, canonically he’d be super 
pissed that he can be purchased from Bezos. 

At church as a kid, it was grape juice and 
wonderbread, (Dollar General brand when my 
pastor grandpa was having a rough month). 
I saw Jesus being cut up from a loaf in the 
kitchen, kinda broke the mystique, and like, 
what is this, the plasma of Jesus? At another,
Jesus’s body was Hawaiian bread and skinny girl 
wine because too many white moms were 
complaining about calories.
Mom said He did not die for our sins so He 
could be represented be Franzia, but I mean
transubstantiation is transubstantiation. And 
you’re saying loaves and fishes party boy JC 
doesn’t get down with the Franzia frenzy? 
Personally, I think Jesus was for the people…
and everyone has access to Franzia, and it 
needs to be cheap and bad to best resemble 
what Jesus had at the Last Supper anyway, and
JC also mugged money lenders & hung out with 
sex workers, pretty sure he wasn’t the pretentious 

Make Canadians smokers again

Virgil Abloh lives on, and the girls who 
used to write quotes on ciggies and post 
pics on Tumblr are going to eat this up.

But was there not a focus group? Sorry 
but they accidentally made something 
that looks quite cool, better than the 
boring plain ones. How’d they manage 
to make cigarettes look cooler? Didn’t 
know they could. Like an Off-White or 
Balenciaga collaboration. Like new 
packaging for an A24 coffee table book. 
Like a depressing fortune cookie. Like 
they’re having a conversation with me.

Makes me wanna collect them like happy 
meal toys, so I’ll have all the phrases. 
Only, I’m in the U.S., can I import a pack? 
Want these all framed together, put on 
my wall. Poison in every puff is kind of a 
killer tagline. Won’t work but will make 
for cool pictures.

Ghost girl summer has replaced hot girl summer

But we’ve been busy. I’m vowing 
the swiftest revenge. So nice to 
hear all of you’ve been doing this 
too. Finally, something I can get 
excited for.

I will descend into this chaos and 
amplify it, set the old man house 
on fire, terrify everyone with our 
ghastly visages. Can I be the victim 
in the dramatic murder scene? I 
want to add some extra drama to 
it. I have an old Hollywood murder 
robe with feathers, so I’m going to 
be the haunting siren, the one in 
human form, dresses in long skirts, 
my sunset yellow floor-length gown.

You can find me in the lit archway 
under the abandoned water tower, 
in the graveyard, in a feverish episode 
lain out in a consumptive state 

while my love looks on worriedly.
I’ll meet you in the graveyard – we’re 
only seen if caught. I’m bringing a 
snake in a jar and a bountiful supply 
of butterfly pea flower. I’ll bring the 
belladonna and shovel. We’ll have 
raspberry wine and fresh baked berry 
scones. Will find my hunting shoes.

Meg Curran is a writer currently based in Norway. She researches and writes about culture, heritage, and food. Her poetry has appeared in In Parentheses and is forthcoming in JAKE, Talk Vomit, The Basilisk Tree, and AURAL.

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